He
still believed, as he turned at last and faced his friend, that his mind
was yet to make up, and his whisper was harsh and broken.
"I do not know," he whispered. "I must go home first."
II
Dick was waiting by the porter's lodge as the boy rode in, and walked up
beside him with his brown hand on the horse's shoulder. Robin could not
say much, and, besides, his confidence must be tied.
"So you are going," he said softly.
The man nodded.
"I met Mr. Babington.... You cannot do better, I think, than go to him."
* * * * *
It was with a miserable heart that an hour or two later he came down to
supper. His father was already at table, sitting grimly in his place; he
made no sign of welcome or recognition as his son came in. During the
meal itself this was of no great consequence, as silence was the custom;
but the boy's heart sank yet further as, still without a word to him,
the squire rose from table at the end and went as usual through the
parlour door. He hesitated a moment before following. Then he grasped
his courage and went after.
All things were as usual there--the wine set out and the sweetmeats, and
his father in his usual place, Yet still there was silence.
Robin began to meditate again, yet alert for a sign or a word. It was
in this little room, he understood, that the dispute with Anthony had
taken place a few hours before, and he looked round it, almost wondering
that all seemed so peaceful.
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